Belters IC

(You are expected to basically create your own interactions with NPCs much like the Vampire Forum thingy. Any character on the ship with a generic name, such as John Johnson, Generica Borington, and Chico Ordinario, are completely up for you to invent and play with. There will soon be a list on the OOC. Anycharacter with a fancy name and backstory is left to my discretion unless stated otherwise.)

Day 0. The crew hasn't met yet, at least for the most part. No one is scheduled to meet at the shipyards until the evening but its safe to assume that some of the crew members have already made the ship home.The ship is docked in one of the better ports on Eros. The station is a place of disrepair that is held together only by the ingenuity of its mechanics. Here, the Belter Independence movement is rather strong with constant local assemblies of people speaking for a united belt. Its is relatively violent on the station as poverty levels are high and resources like water are a bit scarce. Currently there is a rationing of water supply, allowing people to only take a two minute shower every other day and to only drink just barely at the recommended amount.

Ethan:

The whir of the air conditioning unit thrums softly in the background, almost drowning out the vid monitors that line the diner's walls. The air of the cafe is stale with the scent of sweat and cooking grease. The air filter must be broken, just like a majourity of small things on these rocks. It isn't exactly new to you when you see a place in disrepair, but this place is a bit unusual. You are sitting in a very small cafe located in one of the lower levels of the complex, the areas that are the least maintained, yet this place seems to be trying rather hard to keep itself together. The tables and screens are cleaned, the floor is dustless, the counters are made with nice, polished white enamel, and as if there to prove you right, there is a man repairing one of the video monitors on the other side of the cafe.You continue looking over the recent transcripts of the people you had hired on to your ship. The list is longer than you’d like though, since the crew capacity of a Platypus is technically 14. Yet you have 20 people hired because that was what the best contract called for. It’s not too surprising that the Earth Corporation that hired you, Tehnsahn Mining Industries, would put a crew limit of a minimum of 20, since there is some law regarding expected maximum excavation per month based on ship crew size. Still confuses you why it’s not based on ship size, but trying to understand the corporate system is asinine at best.You food finally reaches you and it is exactly what you expected, but hoped not to get. It was your standard ham sandwich made with TASTIES brand synthetic meat and obviously homemade condiments that are neither mustard nor mayo as they were advertised. Judging by the smell as well, you can assume that the lettuce is grown locally in a hydroponic farm that uses recycled bio waste. You know it is safe to eat, but that doesn’t make it any better. “Ham Sandwich my ass,” you hear a voice mumble from behind you. With a heavy sigh you see a man that you have met several times before now, Deyu Wang. He is the man that hired your ship for his mining corporation. The man is a relatively fit gentleman sporting common place clothes instead of standard corporation garb. He sits across from you and slides his sunglass to the brim of his nose, looking over them at you as if to get a better look at the new captain. “I see you are taking the job rather seriously. That’s definitely good. Here is the exact quota that I will hope you will fill out.” He taps his finger on a small data chip and slides it towards you. “Fill it out before the end of the month and you get paid. Remember, you are not mining for Tehnsahn. This part of the belt belongs to another company. If, for some reason, a patrol boat comes to you, give them the survey certificate. Even if they see an issue with it, it will be a slap on the wrist, wrong sector. So just lay low and try not to draw attention while you are out on the belt.” He taps you on the shoulder and walks off. Before you can say anything he spins around and says “See you in a month. Same place same time.” With that he slides out the door and into the streets. Fucking Earthers.

Nailo:

This is your first time stepping onto a Platypus class light freighter and you can only think of two things off the bat. One: This ship, despite holding a new crew and being at least two decades old is in good condition, at least at first glance. Two: How is this tiny thing considered a light freighter and how could it possibly have the hauling capacity that the manual said it has? You begin walking through its tight corridors and immediately find one of the bunk rooms with a little sign on the outside that gives a list of names for who lives in this bunk room. John Johnson, Erica Ericson, James Jamesson, Steve Stevenson, P.E.D.R.O., Robin Robinson, Hough Houghston and Alexis Utapaulik. Odd names to you but anything can happen out here on the belt. You once met a man named Scruffy that you’re pretty sure was a janitor. You thought it was his nickname but he was at a hospital and they tagged him as Scruffy before taking him into the back room.You open the small hatch and walk into the room, which is small and cramped. There is a series of lockers on the far end of the room each large enough to fit a duffel bag and some assorted goods. As you look a bit more at the room you realize that there are only 6 bunks despite the room being assigned to 8 people. You gotta start somewhere you guess.You throw down your bag into one of the lockers and pull out your wrench and the rest of your gear. Making your way towards the back of the vessel you see the hatch towards the engine room and already hear noises coming from within it. It sounds like someone is doing to soldering. You peak into the room and see a girl loudly chewing bubble gum. Her head is shaved on one side and long on the other, displaying a style similar to the average belter chick. Her neck has a sparkling computing band around it and it seems to be attached to the computer console in the room. You now notice what she is doing when you get a good look at her. She seems to be tampering with the controls for the engines!

Before you speak she looks up at you and smiles a shit eating grin. “Ah damn Skizz! I can’t believe I owe Don some script for dis! HAHAHAHAHA!” She stops laughing and wipes a non-existent tear from her eye. “You duh the mechanic right? Phillipe?” She extends a hand out to shake yours. Her accent is a heavy one, more than likely from the outer edges of the belt like Tycho Station. You reach out and shake her hand and she smiles. You share a short conversation about something boring and non descript before her comlink goes off and she grunts. “Dis boy twice my age and I’m runnin around fixin his shit like a god damn baby sitta.” She stops and messages back whoever she was talking to. “Listen I gots to go but I see ya later SHEHBA?” She kicks the computer panel shut and walks out towards the front of the ship. Now you can look into the engine room now. Or do whatever you want. You’ve got almost a full day before you are technically supposed to be back here.

Ippy:

I LIEK TURTLES

Last edited by LokiLeader on Mon Mar 06, 2017 4:13 pm; edited 1 time in total

I turn back to the data chip and sandwich on the table and gave them both a disapproving frown. They both would leave a bad taste in my mouth but I was unfortunately in a position where I had to take what I could get.

I uncrossed my arms and reached a hand into my many pocketed gray-blue jacket and pulled out my beat up datapad. The chip made a satisfying "click" sound when I inserted it and I watched as the black screen began to fill up with words, figures and, numbers. The amount of mined materials required was thankfully less than I had expected for how much the job was paying; but then again seeing as we were essential stealing these resources from Tehnsahn I could understand why.

With a scowl turned off my data pad and pinched the bridge of my nose. The only jobs that ever seemed to come lately for a crew and ship my size were shady ones like these. It irked me greatly but I was used to the feeling by now, most Belters were I supposed. The choice was simple for us; work an honest job that made just enough to barely scrape by or submerge yourself in the crime rings that profited off other humans suffering. I disliked both choices which was the reason why I had purchased the Valor and struck out into the black as an independent with the hopes of an honest job and decent pay; but instead of having both I was now somewhere in the middle.

I let out a small sigh through my nose and bit into the sandwich. It wasn’t bad or good, tasteless really. The only thing I disliked (like always) about it was the synthetic meat.It left a bad taste in my mouth.

As the woman leaves a look of concern crosses my face.Who was that woman and was she speaking English? I think that was English at least... As my thoughts begin to trail off I catch the engine in the corner of my eye. I go up to it and begin running my fingers down one side of it, touching it ever so gently. As I start checking each and every piece of this beauty I remember the strange woman was messing with the terminal. I go look outside the door and seeing nobody around I close it. I move my way to the terminal and begin to discern what Shehba did with it, at least I think that might be her name. After about 30 seconds of staring at the monitor my brain starts to malfunction. I've never been good with computers. Hoping that Shehba didn't do anything wrong I just run my own systems check on the engine. Piece by piece I take my time scanning it. Sometimes I start to remove smaller pieces from the engine just to take a look inside and see how it works, but before i get to carried away I put it back together. After a few hours of messing with it I feel satisfied that it's in good condition. I use my allotted two minutes of shower time to get a quick rinse off and then head back into town. I go purchase a Folding chair and a blanket, I'll let someone else have a cot. I also go to the general store and grab a thank you gift for the captain. I head back to the ship finding the vessel pretty empty, doesn't even look like the captain is around yet. I can't really blame him for enjoying what little time he's not working to be away. I find the captain's quarters and to my shock they're unlocked. I let myself in, place the wrapped package on his desk and lock the door on my way out. Better safe then sorry. I go set up my chair in the engine room call it an early night.

Package in captains quarters1 bottle of whiskey1 handwritten card that says "Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your crew. I will work my hardest to earn the spot you have given me. I hope you enjoy the gift, it has always been my father's favorite." -PEDRO

Dock H of the Eros starports, amongst others, had been raised on an expanse of rock well away from stationside. The distance allowed it to harbor larger ships, like the Valor, but left the dock with a mimimalistic design. Rather than transport high volumes of material, constructors had elected to tether walkways straight off the support beams bored into the asteroid. Foot and forklift traffic was accompanied by the clangor of loose metal plates, and glimpses of asteroid clay were common between displaced seams. The outside feel and advance notice of approaching goons made dock H a favorite home for the homeless.

During times like these, when corporations bought out the dock to ground their ships, the regular residents of dock H were given enough work ferrying crates and steel to sleep at the brothels. As the happiest event of the year, dockhands dutifully hefted around sealed-and-passcoded supplies while crewhands acclimated themselves with the furnishings and neighbors that would occupy the next segment of their lives. Swan's eyes began sifting crew from workers from working crew. He immediately noted one of the crew possessed what must be a belt-born mutation ballooning her breasts to a size beyond what the human skeleton could reasonably heave about in Earth gravity. Swan's job, as he understood it, was to kill for this mutant breast beast, and to ensure she took no more than her fair share of coffee beans from the Valor's mess hall cabinets.

Amongst the visible crew there were no individuals standing about with datapads or hand terminals at the forefront, directing other individuals where to go. The closest such was a clean and well-bearded man, starring at a map he gave the impression of having already memorized. His figure was much the man's who's opinion of another man would be well respected, specifically in the written medium of a recommendation letter. Swan pulled his backpack straps to an even order, re-locked his rifle hostler, and made first contact with his captain.